


Lady Red with Fragile Wings

by myriad_dawn



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Marichat, Princess AU, a hint of Julerose because I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriad_dawn/pseuds/myriad_dawn
Summary: Princess Marinette masquerades as a vigilante known as the Red Lady in order to better the denizens of her kingdom, Miraclus, and to escape the constraints of her royal cage. When rumors of a lonely Prince locked inside a tower reach her ears, she is unable to resist her curiosity, bringing about a series of events with consequences more dire than she could have ever imagined.





	1. The Boy in the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Title may be a WIP. I'll try to post new chapters as soon as I can, but I often don't have time to write with the demands of college.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please forgive any mistakes as I am new to Ao3 and this is the first work I am posting. Feedback is highly encouraged!

In a small corner of a small country, there stood a lonely tower crafted out of rugged stone that passed its days in silence and reached longingly towards the sapphire blue sky above. It was isolated and forgotten, dressed in miles of creeping ivy and falling into disrepair without objection; the spire at its peak was already crooked. A barred little window near the top offered the only deviance from the rough stone that made up the structure. From it, the view was of an endless sea, a vast body of water that collided on one side with the mountainous range that cradled the tower itself. Trees as far as the eye could see stretched out away from the churning waves of the ocean, separating the little decrepit tower from the remainder of the country’s inhabitants.

No one have been to visit the boy who lived within since the time, as he recalled, of his father’s bitter farewell so many cold years before. Adrien grasped at the rusted, iron-wrought bars of his prison and took in the sad sobriety of the gray waters before him. The smell of saltwater hung in the damp air, stinging his nose, and the metal was cool beneath his curled fingers. Once again the day had come and gone, and his father had not returned for him. Adrien was beginning to lose hope that anyone ever would. He clutched the bars of the window so tightly that the rough metal began to bite into his soft palms.

The closest he got to contact with another person was the curious basket of food and other treats that was slipped in every few nights through a small door within the door to the outside while he lay dreaming. One time he had foregone sleep to wait and wait until the stranger who brought him these curious things had shown up to deliver the usual goods. Hours passed by with nothing but the faint huffs of his breathing to fill the dark silence. The footsteps that echoed on the stone floor were light and made little sound, so Adrien assumed the stranger to be female. The tiny door, much too small for any human to crawl through, creaked open and admitted another basket at the push of a delicate hand. “What’s your name,” Adrien said, breaking the stark silence.

The hand jolted in surprise and drew back, then hesitated a long second. Adrien waited. The girl on the other side of the door seemed reluctant to speak to him. 

“Please.”

At this plea of desperation, the girl—no, the woman—spoke. “It’s Nathalie,” she said quietly. Her discomfort was evident in the quaver of her voice and, unable to bear it, she rose to her feet and fled as fast as her little pattering feet could take her before Adrien had a chance to say anything more.

He remembered peering through the little door she had forgotten to close and seeing the outline of her form in the darkness of the stairway. From her clothes he had determined that she was a maid, most likely employed by his father to keep him from starving to death out in the wilderness. Adrien never waited to see if she herself returned or attempted to stay up and talk again. All he knew was that the basket offerings kept coming and he had left it at that. The days since then were as cold and lonely as those before Natalie. The only difference was that the wary maid left him little treats like chocolate or special cheeses from time to time. Plagg usually got to the smelly cheese before Adrien could, not that he minded. He still hadn’t seen her since that night. She wouldn’t make much for company, even now, he guessed.

The blond boy turned from his single window and out of his reverie, reassessing the cozy quarters that he called home with a careful eye. His gaze swept over the tidy pile of faded books in the corner that housed his makeshift bookshelf. Each novel had been worn thin from the sheer amount of times Adrien had lovingly paged through them. Reading was his favorite pastime, the ragged books his only route of escape from the reality of the unrelenting walls that barred him. He smiled despite himself at their familiar bindings, then continued to inspect the crevices of the stone room.

He had spent the day organizing and reorganizing his limited belongings as well as dusting every surface inside his tower until it was spotless. The top circle of space that served as his little bedroom was a quick job, and only one other floor was open to him, which didn’t leave much for a boy to do. Sometimes Adrien made messes on purpose just so that he could busy himself with cleaning them once more if he was particularly bored. He made up wild adventures of dragons and princesses and knighthood like those in his fairy story books to go along with his rampages. He loved those on sword fighting as much as the books on language and history. Adrien descended the first flight of stairs to the remainder of his quaint abode. Scarce, mismatched furniture and odd antiques cluttered this level. He was always careful when he dusted these pieces for fear that they would shatter at his touch. Aged glass lamps and broken music boxes had a sort of indefinable beauty to them that captured his train of thought like a sieve. Past the ancient relics left for his appraisal, there was a shadowy hallway that marked the threshold of the unknown. It was here that he stared for far too long in awe and longing. A door loomed, unseen to him from where he stood due to the curve of the narrow inlet. He could picture the ornate carvings of lilies and ivy and fluttering wings that adorned its obstinate face.

The lowest, third floor had not been seen since he had first arrived at the tower. That was where the exit to the world beyond was. All that stood between him and his freedom was that door of wood, as thick and sturdy as the stone itself, and the descent of a single flight of steps. But even with the key he would be unable to push the heavy thing open far enough to slip through.

Adrien turned away from the tower’s entrance to avoid slipping further into a state of melancholy and climbed the staircase to his private quarters once more. Not that the lower level was any less private. His bare feet were chilled by the stone beneath them and he wished for a new pair of socks…his last had met an unfortunate fate at the jaws of a certain feline, the baneful thing. Where was he now? Still asleep? Adrien peered into his room as he reached the top floor, cautious not to make a racket with the creaky pine door for his own sake.

A little black cat yawned, unconcerned, as it lay nestled in the twisted covers of Adrien’s bed. This apathetic creature was his only friend and companion. His bed was the only part of the room left untouched so as not to disturb the old cat, mostly so that Adrien wouldn’t have the scratches to show for his attempt at fixing the covers. Plagg had belonged to his mother, so he had heard, and was the only tie to her that he possessed aside from a silver ring she had saved. He wore it always. The exchange of the ring had been years ago, and he remembered almost nothing else about her aside from her kindness. After that day, she was gone from both their home and his childhood memories. Adrien’s fingers gently brushed against its lustrous surface. _Mother._

The troubled boy shook his head as if a cat shaking rain from its fur. Now would be a good time to lose himself in his books, he thought, pressing a palm down hard into his throbbing forehead to calm the storm in his mind. Forgetting himself in the woven tales of their pages was the easiest way to put him at ease when nagging thoughts like those about his mother would refuse to subside. To dwell on her absence would do him no favors.

Just as Adrien began to internally collapse within himself, Plagg slowly opened his eerie green eyes in a stare that seemed to fish out and extract the boy’s weakness. It was almost a challenge. The old feline seemed to be asking him serious questions with his piercing gaze, more vibrant than any green Adrien had ever seen. Even his own eyes were no comparison to them, green as they were. He shivered, unsettled. Plagg let out a lazy _mrrooow._

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, “I won’t get all mopey on you today. How about some dinner?”

The black cat immediately perked up at his attractive offer, ears twitching. Adrien placed a generous chunk of camembert cheese from Natalie’s latest basket upon the floor, its stench nearly making him gag. Plagg didn’t seem to care, already at the boy’s feet and drooling before it met the ground. The cat frisked the camembert from the stone in one clean swipe and feasted on it as if ravenous. Adrien rolled his eyes. “Plagg, you pig,” he chided. A crooked black tail lashed in protest.

As his friend finished his meal, Adrien wandered to his bookshelf, the shelf itself only a hollow nook of space where the stone had worn or been dislodged at some point. He caressed the edges of the leather bindings fondly until he reached a particular title. He pulled it from the company of its brethren and cracked open the cover. It was his favorite fairy story, the one his father loathed and his mother loved—about a fairy queen who wished to be human and saved a boy she would grow to love. She is captured by greedy humans and her wings are ripped from her back, but the boy fashions her a new pair so that she may regain her freedom. He is killed by her captors as punishment, but the fairy’s tears bring him back to life at the cost of her immortality. They then live happily ever after.

Adrien loved how the story took someone so lonely and sad and gave them love and happiness. It made a happy ending from a sad tale. He understood why his mother had loved it so much. The boy gingerly returned it to the shelf as he drowned in nostalgia. Most of the other books were placed there by his father for educational purposes and included practical topics from Valean scripts and language (the tongue of a neighboring country) to music theory. While he enjoyed them, he did not love them like his fairy queen.

Soft purrs drifted from near the floor as Plagg sauntered over to Adrien and began to brush against his legs and weave between them, demanding attention as soon as the camembert had been devoured. He laughed and scratched the little cat’s head until those haunting green eyes were reduced to mere slits of absolute bliss. Soon the curious creature had all but fallen asleep standing in place. In one smooth motion Adrien scooped Plagg into his arms and carried him back to the ruffled bed. The human curled around his companion, glad for his furry warmth. Plagg might be a serious pain, but Adrien was grateful for him at times like these. He buried his worries in midnight fur.

The boy in the tower often harbored childish dreams of leaving his imprisonment behind. Of dancing through the clouds and making ripples in the ocean below. He dreamed of scaling the heights of his cage and screaming out into the ether that he, Adrien, was finally free to roam as he pleased. But as the days had passed he had grown weary of such a hope, and in turn spent more of his musings on how to keep busy until one day someone had come for him. These days it was more difficult to forget the loneliness.

As Adrien curled up next to his black-furred cat he tried to push these thoughts from his mind, resigned to the possession of his small tower in that small corner of the country called Miraclus.


	2. The Lady in Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This chapter is coming much sooner than the others probably will. (We'll see!) I felt pretty guilty that the main character and focus of the work's description wasn't even a part of Chapter 1...so here's Chapter 2!
> 
> Also: I wasn't planning on mentioning any additional characters besides the ones listed, but as I was writing thought it might be nice to briefly include some of Marinette's talented classmates in the AU.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy <3

Far from the tower where a certain boy resided, in the heart of the kingdom of Miraclus, there was the royal court. At the focus of the expansive grounds was the magnificent milk-white palace itself, towering above the colorful town that thrived under its watchful eye. Delicious breads were always baking in the capital, a staple of the Miraclun diet. Warm and sweet aromas hung in the air and laughter could be heard echoing through the bustling streets. The tiny country was indeed small, but the people were happy under the peaceful rule of King Thomas, and the bountiful harvest from the past year ensured the citizens would stay that way as spring ripened and the nights grew mild.

A restless girl, clad in fine dress, stared blankly through the open silk curtains of a window taller than herself with her elbows perched upon the smooth sill and her head resting in her hands. The small rubies that occupied her pierced ears glinted at the kiss of sunlight. Her dark hair, braided with wildflowers, swirled in the gentle breeze which carried to her dainty nose the essence of town life. The girl watched the orange trees of the gardens quaver in anticipation of summer. Oh, how the Princess of Miraclus missed the town. She had been mostly contained in the palace her whole life, the only consolations being the company of her attending lady, Alya, and a clever enough mind to slip past her guards on occasion when circumstances allowed it. Town life happened to suit her boundless spirit much better than the politics of court. She adjusted her soft pink gown and righted her crooked tiara, as if suddenly reminded of the high expectations of royalty. _I just want to run through the forest again._ The dark-haired girl sighed into the empty sky beyond, her bluebell eyes downcast.

“Princess?” a voice called.

“Alya, I’ve told you a thousand times that you are free to call me Marinette,” she chastised. “We’ve only been best friends for years.” The Princess smirked in amusement at her Lady in Waiting, who sat at a small painted writing desk bent over a new work that seemed to span endless pages. Marinette loved to watch Alya’s vivid stories take tangible form and often hovered over her shoulder until her childhood friend would shoo her away for being a distraction. It was the best when Alya would make up a new story, just for her sake, in the late hours of the night when the two girls secretly stayed awake past curfew. Over the years they had kept each other from getting lonely in the never-ending halls of the castle.

Alya swished her quill through the air indecisively as she sorted her thoughts. “You seemed troubled,” she said finally, setting the feathered pen down with a small clack and rising from her chair. She tucked an unruly strand of brown hair behind her ear and looked expectantly at her friend while her hands found her hips. The spirited girl raised one eyebrow high and waited, smooth caramel skin glowing in the aging light of the evening that streamed through the flawless glass windows.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t like me,” Marinette teased, pointing in accusation at Alya and grinning.

Alya rolled her eyes and spanned the distance between them to pull the Princess into a tight hug. She always made sure to take care of her Marinette, the peculiar Princess who from childhood had always been innocent and sweet and quick to cry over things like crushed daisies. The girl who was her best friend in the whole world and who wanted nothing more than to explore it. An idea crossed her mind to bring her girl out of this apparent funk and back to her bubbly self. Seconds passed; neither broke the hug. But as soon as Marinette began to move away, she found herself suddenly bursting into shrieks of laughter as Alya’s lithe fingers found her sides and tickled them without mercy.

“And here’s your punishment for saying that,” the Lady explained, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Her fingers continued their unrelenting assault on the Princess. The two of them rolled around the marble floor in a tangle of limbs and layered gowns. For a moment Marinette felt cheered by the freedom of play. Alya was really the best friend she could ever ask for inside this stuffy old castle.

A knock at the door brought Marinette back to her reality, and the two girls had just managed to arise and dust off their wrinkled skirts when a single guard entered. His posture was stiff and formal, careful not to betray any emotion, but beneath his ceremonial façade the Princess recognized the kind face.

“Hello Nino,” she greeted, still breathless.

The guard looked surprised, but a gleam of affection entered his cold gaze as he let out a small cough of warning and looked up to her tousled hair. Marinette’s hand found her lopsided crown almost immediately and righted it. She nodded graciously. Nino always looked out for her and Alya, and was one of her favorite castle guards. Many of the others never bothered to make any conversation with her, out of fear or their own serious disposition, and she was additionally grateful to him for keeping watch over Alya when she could not do so herself. Nino was a good, loyal man and one she could trust implicitly.

Alya curtsied dramatically to the guard, a bright smile alighting her face. He bowed in response and returned a tender smile of his own before addressing Marinette. “Princess, your father wishes to remind you of tonight’s banquet in welcome of the Esvernian royalty to the court. King Thomas urged me to add that your attendance is of the utmost important to foreign relations,” he said, clearing his throat to sound more official.

A pained groan escaped from Marinette’s throat. “I’d forgotten about that,” she squeaked. Her hands covered her face in dread. The Princess of Esvern was probably her least favorite person of all those she had met on the planet. It seems that fortune was not with her this day. Alya put a comforting hand on Marinette’s shoulder, exchanging a look with Nino. 

“It’s alright, Nino, you may go. Thank you,” Marinette sighed.

Alya carefully guided her Princess to the chaise at the foot of the grand, goose-down bed, where the two girls sat side by side. Marinette rested her head on Alya’s chest and wrapped her arms around the taller girl. She desperately wished to fall ill in that moment so as to avoid the agony that tonight was guaranteed to bring her. A royal soiree was the last thing that the dark-haired girl needed, especially when Princess Chloé Bourgeois of Esvern was the guest of honor.

Relations with Esvern, Marinette knew, were of high importance at the moment. Miraclus was but a small country set between two large powers: Valea and Esvern. Her father’s marriage to Queen Sabine, her mother and the younger sister to the King of Valea, had been arranged in order to secure protection for the little kingdom. But no ties of blood had been established with Esvern; only goodwill and friendship kept the two sides from clashing. Princess Chloé and her retainers would be regulars around the palace from now on, taking in Miraclun culture and no doubt stepping on everyone’s toes where they could. The poor servants would have to bend over backwards just to satisfy the Esvernian Princess, and from what Marinette had previously discerned of her shallow personality, her demands would include ridiculous requests like golden goblets at every meal and mountain spring water topped with rare, “exotic” flower petals for her baths. Spoiled was the only word to describe Chloé Bourgeois.

Marinette yearned to ride her chestnut horse into the night. It was only a silly little dinner after all. What harm would it really cause to miss out on such a trivial event? The Princess wrestled with her conscience for a few minutes as Alya held her, but eventually her insatiable desire for freedom won out. _Besides, with a fancy dinner going on, there’s no way the guards would notice me slipping through the gate. It’s the perfect distraction._

The Princess, beaming, broke away from Alya’s embrace as excitement swelled up into her throat. “Alya, can you cover for me tonight?”

Her friend was taken aback by the sudden change in mood and couldn’t bring herself to make a sound. Marinette writhed with joy at the idea of feeling the wind in her hair and the heaviness of that red velvet mask upon her cheeks. It had been over a week since her last outing. Her royal duties had been taxing lately as the arrangements with Esvern were being settled, and it had made her stir-crazy to just sit in her room or act demure and stay quiet like a good royal whenever she left her quarters so that the people of the court wouldn’t gossip.

“Please, Alya. I need this. I know my dad wants me there, but we aren’t going to war over my absence or anything. I’ll make it up to you,” Marinette pleaded. Alya wore a pained expression. The Princess was asking a lot of her…after all, going against the King’s wishes would not be looked upon well, even if he was a kind man. But Marinette would protect her Lady in Waiting with her own life and Alya knew she was in no danger from the man who practically raised her. “Oh…alright, girl. But please try and be back soon this time,” she huffed.

Marinette nodded and tore her crown out of her messy hair, throwing it haphazardly on the bed, but left her ruby earrings untouched. She bent over and allowed Alya to begin picking out the white flowers woven into the dark strands. Locks of silken hair cascaded down as the flowers that held them in place were plucked out. “Thank you,” the Princess whispered through the wall of black hair. Alya let the handful of white blossoms fall in a slow spiral toward the marble flooring as Marinette spoke. “I owe you so much.”

“Think nothing of it, highness. You’d do the same for me if necessary,” Alya cooed as she finished brushing through the tangles. They rose from the chaise and the two embraced once more, but Marinette’s Lady in Waiting was no longer smiling as they parted. Her warm hands fell limp at her sides, expression turned down into a slight frown.

“Alya?” Marinette inquired.

“It’s just…I remembered what you told me before…about those strange men. This could be dangerous. You never think about what could happen to you.”

Marinette stilled, recalling the masked men that she had encountered two months previous. She had thwarted many thugs and thieves looking to make their fortune by robbing unsuspecting townspeople, but the men in black had been after something far more sinister and calculated. Assassins. Three of them. Most memorably, they all bore the same silver markings along their arms. She had fought the trio of killers alone and won. One slip up would have meant her life, but she had not been afraid. The mask she wore gifted her a kind of power that burned in her heart and lent her courage when she needed it most. The Princess wondered even now about the intended targets whose lives had been spared by her actions and of the person who wanted them dead. The unfamiliar markings had been seared into her mind. She itched to don her scarlet disguise again.

“I promise to be careful. Those men weren’t after me. And this is the billionth time I’ve done this. The odds of meeting another team of assassins are incredibly low,” Marinette said. She gave her friend a reassuring smile. _But if I do see them, I can’t promise I’ll stay out of trouble._

Alya sighed. She could tell how much the Princess loved her adventures. “If you promise me you won’t get hurt. Now you better get a move on, girl, before time runs out.”

Marinette was already on her way to the bedside, removing a heavy leather trunk that creaked dryly as it opened. She pulled out an ensemble dyed in the purest red and gathered the bright garments into a beige traveler’s bundle, then procured a slingshot and a pair of daggers from beneath a loose panel of marble. She added the deadly arsenal to the pack. Finally, the Princess exchanged her pink dress for more suitable riding gear. With a quick wave to Alya, who shook her head and sighed with worry like a mother hen, Marinette slipped outside the grandiose doors of her chambers and snuck towards the rear gate as quiet as a mouse.

Twice she had been forced to duck behind the tapestries that lined the walls of her palace as she neared the exit. The first time when two of the palace maids, Rose and Juleka, came chattering down the hall. They each carried a generous armful of clean linens. Marinette knew them to be an agreeable pair, but could not risk being discovered by anyone in her current state. How would she explain herself? The Princess let them pass before continuing on her way.

Secondly, two guards intersected her path, and Marinette barely had time to dart out of sight. It was Alix and Kim on patrol. _Figures I’d cross paths with them_ , she thought. 

Alix took her job very seriously and had a thing about keeping time; she flicked her antique pocket watch open every few minutes to make sure the schedule was kept. Kim, on the other hand, just liked to show off his strength. Marinette would have the scolding of her life if either guard found her here. She breathed a sigh of relief as they turned the next corner, but remained cautious.

At last the threshold of the outside world lay before her, and unguarded. Her pace quickened as she got closer to the gate. She inhaled deeply. _I can finally taste the open air again._

Marinette crept beneath the thick metal bars and ran like the wind itself toward the stables in case anyone who knew better had coincidentally glanced out the windows behind her. The Princess dove inside the thatched-roof structure and flew by each stall, panting from exertion and complexion aglow, until she reached a beautiful chestnut stallion. The gallant steed issued a hearty neigh in greeting of his mistress.

“Long time no see, Lucky Charm,” Marinette mused. She stroked his velvety nose with content and saddled him with haste. “Ready to make a break for it?”

A devilish grin spread over the Princess’ rosy cheeks as she mounted and a rush of adrenaline pumped into her veins. How she had missed this thrilling feeling. Girl and stallion bounded out of the stables and into the stretch of thick wood just outside the trimmed grass of the palace grounds. The crunch of pine needles under her horse’s hooves was like the finest music to Marinette’s ears as they entered the forest. Her spirit was renewed.

Once they had covered significant ground, the expert rider dismounted gracefully and landed hard on her feet. Lucky Charm pushed hot air from his nostrils and started to dine on the lush green grasses as his lady worked, calmed by the gentle hum that she made when busy. Marinette unrolled her pack and dressed herself in the vibrant leatherware and red cloak. Her mask fit snugly over the bridge of her nose by her own design, and perfectly complemented the precious gemstones that pierced her ears. She slid the matching daggers into their sheaths on her belt, ruby-encrusted hilts concealed by her signature cloak. Marinette tied her hair back into pigtails with strips of red cloth, then pulled the hood overtop her head.

Most knew her transformed visage as the Red Lady, protector of Miraclus and friend to the crown. It was through this alternate identity that she could escape the gilded cage of Princess Marinette and gain the freedom she craved. She had vowed to protect her citizens at all costs, a feat that would not be achieved by sitting idly in a pretty white palace that put her years of (precautionary) combat training to waste. Only Alya knew of her secret, and even then, had limited knowledge of Marinette’s activities.

Marinette dug through greenery and fallen leaves to dislodge a red saddle and mask meant for Lucky Charm from beneath a rotted stump. She would take no risks of being identified and had placed these here many months ago. Her loyal horse dipped his head for her, familiar with the ritual they had performed numerous times, and allowed Marinette to fasten the mask to his head. She then slipped the old gear into a beige bundle and fastened it to the back of the crimson saddle that now adorned her noble steed’s back.

At long last, the Red Lady saddled up and rode deeper into the rows of endless trees. The vigilante had a particular destination in mind this day, and had been aching to investigate there since her last escapade over a week prior. While his existence was but a pub rumor spread by drunken men, she intended to seek the lonely tower Prince of legend for herself. She was spurred by the belief that no one else should be locked away from the world the way she had been all her life.

And so, unbeknownst to her, the Red Lady rode swiftly towards the catalyst of her fate, all in the name of rescuing a boy that at the time she was not sure even existed.


	3. The Silver Circle [Flashback]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to two months previous...
> 
> i.e. in which our villain is introduced and Marinette does things
> 
> [Positive feedback really inspires my writing, as I have learned recently]

A woman clad in the finest reds surveyed her domain from the shingles of a high rooftop, the lazy hours of late afternoon inducing a sleepy effect on the vibrant little town that tarried below her watch. The floral scents of springtime drifted about the tidy streets while the warmth of midday still lingered. To the mundane townsfolk, the Red Lady was a blessed savior sent to protect them from harm, or alternatively, a benevolent goddess masquerading in mortal likeness. Most never wondered about the girl behind the mask. Most never got close enough to her to realize that she was a human like the rest of them.

The Red Lady sighed, drawing her knee closer to her chest and resting her hooded face upon it. Bluebell eyes peered from beneath the cloak’s heavy fabric at the carefree pedestrians below. The Lady had not had the opportunity to retrieve her horse, and instead had settled for a stationary patrol where no people could bother her. The taverns were bound to be chaotic and boisterous at this hour. She had no interest in such engagements tonight. What she had truly craved for herself was to ride through the forest on the back of her steed and leave civilization behind for a few precious hours. The girl behind the mask had spent days in the constant company of others and in that time been bombarded with responsibilities. Her lessons had been taxing on her psyche.

 _But,_ she thought, _some freedom is better than none at all._

Under the Red Lady’s protection, the town’s criminal activity had almost disappeared altogether, so any confrontation with thieves was unlikely. These days she feared that her fighting ability would go rusty from disuse. She supposed she should be content in the fact that her influence had proved favorable for the people of her kingdom, and that she was eagerly welcomed into their community. Not a single soul was unfamiliar with the lady in red.

The winds changed suddenly, snapping her away from the picturesque scene of village life. Rogue strands of her black hair fluttered about her face and obscured her vision. One hand was already at her favored weapon, in which no enemy could match her skill at wielding. Something was off. It had switched her senses to high alert.

The Red Lady’s eyes darted over every corner, every darkened crevice. A flash of movement drew her keen attention. _There._

She leapt from her perch, crossing over adjacent rooftops, and then utilized a narrow break between two buildings to slide down to the packed ground at their bases. Whoever had caught her attention was lurking only an alleyway over from where she now stood. _I may be able to put my combat training into practice after all._

A deep breath of air supplied her lungs with oxygen, readying them for the burst of adrenaline that began to course through her. The Red Lady pulled her trusted slingshot from her belt, pouch of marbles at the ready, and crept along the outer face of the building to her left.

While some thought her methods to be peculiar, she was undoubtedly an expert, never failing to deliver swift beatings to ruffians boasting swords and axes alike using only the child’s tool and her fists. She believed her choice of weapon to be largely underrated and misunderstood by others. A slingshot in the hands of the Red Lady was as deadly as any other weapon in the hands of its master. Glass marbles found their mark with great accuracy; one could be certain she would not miss her target, almost as if the lady could bend space itself to her will.

She drew back the simple slingshot until its string was taut, an obsidian marble nestled in the space between her deft fingers as if a notched arrow, and stepped into the shadows once more. The Red Lady’s eyes adjusted to the dim alley and revealed three cloaked men with their backs to her. They had been conversing in uneasy whispers. She luckily had the foresight to mute her steps and reaped the benefit of observing the strange group before they noticed her presence. The most alarming detail she observed was not the poison-tipped daggers that were hastily concealed within the folds of their black garments, but rather a set of unfamiliar markings.

Swirls of matching silver tattooed the right arm of each man—assassins, the lot of them—and curled in delicate patterns that seemed unintelligible to the uninitiated. The lady could only guess at their meaning. These silver markings were elaborate and vastly different from any foreign scripts that she knew of.

It troubled her that these assassins were not acting solely as hired mercenaries, but instead under some sort of unified group yet unknown to both the Red Lady and, to her knowledge, the Miraclun court itself. Even if she managed to overcome them, it would be a case of treating the symptoms while the cause remained. The three had clearly been hired with murderous intent.

The Red Lady narrowed her eyes as the sinister whispers grew quieter. They had finally noticed the company. She felt the pure, feral energy of men primed to kill when her eyes met theirs.

As all three men came barreling at the Lady, knives tipped with certain death in hand, she steeled herself for the coming battle. There was no room for fear. A marble released from her hand.

One of the thugs hit the dusty ground with a dull _thunk_ , allowing the Red Lady to slip beneath the remaining two like a river trout dodging hungry bear claws. The downed man’s forehead was marked by the single shot that had felled him, rendering him unconscious in moments. The dark-haired vigilante smiled to herself.

She swiveled, tripping a second attacker that had lunged for her again, and ducking as the third man slashed the space where her neck had been moments before. The Lady landed a firm punch to his gut that sent him flying backwards in shock, reloading her weapon in the few seconds of time the counterattack had gifted.

Before she could aim, the tall assassin she had been tripped kicked out and forced the slingshot from her hand. She cried out in pain as the blow connected.

The glass marble shattered on the hard ground beside them, whereas the weapon itself had landed much too far away to reclaim without turning her back on the enemy…a choice that would quickly result in her death. Her brow furrowed as she reached for the pair of daggers in her belt and unsheathed them. _I’ll need to end this quick. I’m at a serious disadvantage fighting with blades against these two creeps._

Both men were coming at her now, poised to strike. Despite her skill the Red Lady barely managed to parry each slew of blows from the poisoned daggers with her own. One slip up and she’d find herself in serious trouble. They had her exclusively on the defensive, which meant that a mistake was bound to happen eventually and that this gave her no chance to tip the scales. It also meant she had to think fast.

The vigilante ducked at another vicious swipe from one of the men that left a small opening. She took the opportunity to swivel beneath the attackers; the one nearest to her was wiser this time and dodged her maneuver, smug for seeing through her predictable trick as her small legs flew past without connecting. However, he lacked the realization that uprooting his footing was not her goal this time around.

The Red Lady grasped the poisoned dagger of the unconscious man and with a flick of her wrist sent it flying. The razor-sharp tip hit its mark—pinning the sleeve of the other assassin to a wooden support beam along the wall of the alley that made up the neighboring home. Trapped, he struggled to remove it on his own, but the layers of cloth were far too thick to tear and the blade too deeply buried in the firm wood. She grinned and sheathed one of her daggers, leaving the other in her left hand and twirling it about in regained confidence. Victory was certain now.

The final assassin, the tall man, came roaring towards her in a desperate battle cry. He was unsure of what to make of a lady dressed in red that had managed to dispatch his two, highly trained comrades singlehandedly with only a slingshot and three daggers at her disposal. Just who was this woman?

The Lady easily stopped his assault with her lone dagger, the clash of metal on metal reverberating through the narrow passage, while her right arm dipped down and came to a bone-shattering halt as fist met rib cage. He wheezed in pain and crumbled to the ground. She stood tall, hands on her hips and a fire shining in her bright eyes, then turned to pick up her slingshot.

She didn’t see him retaliate until it was too late, a wild kick slamming her back into the hard stone of the wall with insane force.

The third to fall had returned to his feet, clutching his chest. But instead of going for another hit, as the dark-haired girl expected, he turned and slashed away the dagger from the sleeve of his comrade. It was abandoned in the wooden post. In a flash the two of them had hoisted the unconscious assassin between them and scurried into the night with the speed of ninja, even dropping a shell of white smoke behind to conceal themselves. The Red Lady saw but a faint shimmer of silver before the trio had vanished into the thick fog as she struggled to her feet, wincing.

The wind had been knocked from her lungs and made her choke on the smoke vapors that filled the stale air. By the time she regained her composure from coughing fits, the scene had cleared with no sign of the silver men. The silence was broken only by the far-off whine of nocturnal beasts. Dusk had settled into true nightfall unnoticed during the battle, she realized. The vigilante retrieved her slingshot and slipped it back beneath the folds of her now dirtied cloak.

Who were those men working for? What were those silver markings? Who were they hired to kill? The Red Lady had many unanswered questions swimming through her mind, still a bit dazed from the encounter. But she had won. Those men would kill no innocent this night. She could take comfort in that fact at the very least.

With the flutter of a red cloak, she herself had disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Her palace awaited in the distance. And it was in that moment that the Red Lady became a simple fairy tale once again. Marinette hurried home with a crimson mask hidden deep in the pack on her back, imagining both the warmth of a drawn bath and menacing swirls of intricate silver.

~*~

Three sets of footsteps echoed in syncopated rhythm on wet stone. The band had managed to evade capture with no fatal wounds, but had failed their objective. There should have been no obstructions to the task assigned them. No others of the initiated were as suited to the task as they had been. Hawk Moth would not be pleased. The idea of disappointing the head of the Circle was only marginally more appealing than being executed by the court.

The three wounded assassins limped through the underground tunnels while the damp walls surrounding them oozed unpleasant substances and rendered the surface beneath their dragging feet slick. Unseen creatures scuttled about in the darkness. One of the men shivered audibly. The tall man in the lead, sustaining few injuries, grasped a crudely drawn map signed with a silver insignia that was the key to reading the intersecting mass of lines scratched upon it.

Soon enough the narrow walls gradually widened until they reached a large chamber furnished with fine tapestries and a collection of antique furniture, the center of which featured a throne of pure silver basking in the filtered light of the moon that entered through a simple glass window above it. It featured elaborate etchings not unlike those that each of the circle members bore on their arms, but paled in comparison to the elegance of the master that sat upon them.

They bowed without hesitation.

“Back so soon? I would have expected the murder of the royal family to take a bit longer, even for you three,” Hawk Moth purred. His gloved hands remained folded over his staff as he lounged on his great throne.

The leader of the three cleared his throat. “A-Actually, sir, we were ambushed by a lady dressed in red…and failed to complete the mission. Our most sincere apologies. This maiden was capable enough to have killed us then and there if she had so desired it.”

Hawk Moth’s posture stiffened, hands tensing and grinding the bottom of the staff against the stone floor with a metallic screech. “Is that so?” he said flatly. The villain thought for a moment, pursing his lips, as the men before him cowered and awaited punishment.

“Very well. It seems the fearsome Red Lady is intent on throwing a wrench in my plans. It is true, then, that no misconduct escapes her watchful eye. The start of our new era must be postponed as I cannot act with such constraints. But fear not, lads, the Silver Circle will have our day and all of Miraclus will bow to us.”

Hawk Moth shook his fist at the declaration and proceeded to dismiss his tired men to patch up their wounds. He did not blame them for their failure in this case. For some time he had been following the work of the Red Lady, and for some time she had been an obstacle to his success. The failed assassination marked the first direct encounter with her impressive power. Many times in the past she had thwarted his more indirect objectives, such as jewel heists from the royal mines carried out by petty, disposable thieves. The pattern was becoming quite the nuisance. His plot could not be fully realized with her around to meddle in his affairs.

But the distraction held opportunity to work in his favor. Until he could find a way to get rid of the wench, she would buy him time to gather his forces and grow his Circle without challenge. Hawk Moth was determined for the Red Lady—human or not—to become a mere pawn in his grand scheme. But blindly messing with a goddess at this stage could prove fatal. Once strong enough, he would discard her and make the kingdom of Miraclus his toy box of precious gemstones. The very thought filled him with glee.

It had become a waiting game and Hawk Moth was a patient man. Good things would come in turn. _I wonder what our little Red Lady will do now? How amusing. I can’t wait to play with her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 will (finally) feature the fated meeting of our beloved heroes, so sit tight until the story really begins


	4. Fairy Queen and Lonely Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for such a long delay...the end of last semester was terrible on me and I barely slept. No time for writing :/ This fic might come along slowly.
> 
> At the very least I've finally finished their actual meeting? So lots of Ladrien here to enjoy

The day she had first heard the story of the boy in the tower was just like any other adventure masquerading as the Red Lady. Marinette remembered lounging in the corner of a town pub packed with drunken men that slurred festive songs and lumbered through dances as the vivacious musicians played on for them through the night. Strangers embraced and slapped each other’s backs while bellowing laughter resounded through the hall. While her visits here had first begun as a plea to capture a band of thugs terrorizing the gritty establishment, the Red Lady had been struck by the coarse atmosphere, vastly different from sheltered palace life, and was driven by her curiosity to return. Days of solitude often drew her toward the boundless energy the pub’s lively inhabitants possessed.

The girl in the corner went unnoticed, receiving at most a handful of respectful nods from patrons sober enough to acknowledge the masked maiden that did not partake in the drink. No one questioned a goddess, after all. Her red lips curled with amusement as a pair of gentleman attempted to belt out some semblance of a tune, arms clapped around the broad shoulders of their neighbors.

Drunken chattering drowned out coherent conversation, and the atmosphere was rife with hearsay and gossip. One barrel-chested sailor recounted a story of his sea-faring days, where the crew discovered a rat the size of a large dog. A somber vagrant shared a story passed down through the grapevine about a vengeful ghost that stole away children from a Valean village near the border. Stories that described encounters with beautiful fairy women seemed to be rather common, the Red Lady noted. She had to stifle her laughter on more than a few occasions to conceal her eavesdropping.

“Oi, fellas, ever hear the one about the boy prince?” a white-haired patron rasped as the hall entered a moment of relative quiet. The silent heroine perked up at this, curiosity piqued. The old man took a generous swig of dark liquid and belched.

“O’course we have. You only tell it every other night, you drunkard,” another man slurred. Laughter echoed through the tavern at this. The storyteller seemed unaffected by the jeering and continued anyway.

“My nephew lives on the outskirts of the country, rough out there it is, an’ hunts game in the forest for spare coin. He once stumbled upon the abandoned hold of some rich lord or another. Swears on his life he saw ‘im at the top; a golden-haired prince is living at the top o’ that tower, he says to me, and there didn’t seem to be no way in.”

The old man’s jumbled words pulled strangely at the Red Lady’s heart. A golden prince, locked in a tower with no exit? She thought of him there, alone and just as trapped in his prison as she in hers. No person should have to live that way. The Red Lady knew better than most what it meant to lack freedom. Determination filled her small body as she gathered her racing thoughts.

Where would he be? She needed more detail, but a plan was already forming, even if the story lacked any grain of truth. She couldn’t resist what she might find at that old tower in the forest. Her breath caught in her throat as the idea of his honey-colored hair filled her with warmth. The Red Lady imagined what her Prince might look like, and the desire to see the boy’s face overcame her.

The screech of her wooden chair as she stood brought true silence upon the boisterous tavern for the first time in hours. A sly smile played on the maiden’s lips. “Tell me more about this Prince.”

~*~

The thundering gallop of Marinette’s horse as he ran was dulled by the soft undergrowth beneath his hooves, a fact for which she was grateful. The Red Lady, and Marinette for that matter, needed to draw very little attention to her mission as the visiting royals and their court poured in to the capital city on the road just a few meters away. She let the thrill of the blurred forest landscape dispel her fears, embracing the dying flame of day as it crept upon the world. A few hours of sunlight would be plenty; they would give her the time she needed to ride to the tower and leave darkness to conceal her as she snuck into the party that was sure to be in full-swing when she returned.

If she was lucky, they would blame her absence on the efforts of a conceited Princess readying herself for a ball. That was the plan anyway. The Red Lady snorted to herself at the thought of vanity befitting Princess Chloé. She was glad for the wind in her hair and at her back, rather than the stuffy air of the palace.

The Red Lady urged her Lucky Charm onwards with a flick of his reins and turned her mind to the lone tower that held her Prince captive. She would free him this day if given the chance, and could only hope that her course was accurate with only a crude map in her mind to guide her. The Lady’s red hood flew back from her ink-black hair, but the ribbons kept it from swaying wildly, so she did not care.

The boy in the tower had consumed her dreams ever since the night she first heard of his fate over a week prior, and she had longed to come to his rescue. Every day stuck in the palace since then had made her skin crawl. He had waited for his freedom long enough. She would not stop for anything.

The ominous old tower loomed above the miles of pine trees surrounding it, but from within the forest was obscured from view until the Red Lady approached it. Relief filled her as she identified it. The stone was crumbling in places, but retained its stability if not its splendor. Her nose pricked at the salted scent of the ocean coastline that must not be too far off. The masked heroine calmed her steed and directed him to a patch of wild grass at the base of a large pine, where she knew he would be patient for her. She then examined the structure before her with crossed arms and a lean in her posture.  
The hunter from the tavern-goer’s story was right; no door was in sight, and the only opening into the tower was a barred window near the peak of the structure. The maiden’s expression twisted.

She would have to climb the side of the tower after all. A deep sigh slipped through her teeth as she pulled her twin daggers from the folds of her cloak. Misplace one of her blades and her injuries would be all too telling. Either nobody would believe that she had shattered a bone within her chambers or she’d be too dead for injuries to matter. Despite the risk, her resolve did not falter.

Dagger after dagger, the Red Lady plunged her blades into the widened cracks between stones. Her small feet, as expected, found purchase easily in the uneven wall. She took a deep breath and began the ascent.

Natural instinct and years of practice took over, while logic soothed her: she had scaled much more difficult surfaces than the stone wall, albeit with less risk. Her limbs burned from lack of use, but she ignored the ache. The ocean she sensed upon arrival soon came into view, stretching for miles beyond her little kingdom. Wind from the vast sea whipped at her red cloak and chilled her bare skin as she exited the protection of the trees. The remaining influence of the sun did nothing for her, the light of dusk too weak to stave off the cold of the oncoming night, but her discomfort was forgotten at the sight above her.

There was a faint light emanating from the room beyond the window, just a few feet out of reach. Her prince was here after all.

The Red Lady did not feel the last few feet of climbing, lost in her revelation until the shock of cold metal brushed against her reaching fingers. _I forgot about the bars_ , she thought dryly. The girl scored them with her fierce gaze. Luck was on her side after all. The metal grate was rusted and lodged in weak, crumbling stone. It looked as if it had originally been constructed in a rush and, foolishly, in one piece. If she could dislodge a bit of the remaining stone with the point of her dagger, then it just might come loose. She chipped at it for a good minute before her efforts were rewarded.

 _Aha!_ The metalwork popped out of place and tumbled to the ground below. She sheathed her weapons, hoisted herself through the now-unobstructed window, and hit solid ground in the form of a threadbare carpet. The Red Lady froze.

A boy stared at her with widened eyes the color of peridot gemstones that sparkled just as brightly. His fair hair was woven from strands of gold and he was every bit the prince that the girl in the red mask had imagined. Her heart caught in her throat. The Prince seemed unable to speak, and the way his mouth opened ever so slightly in surprise made the Red Lady’s knees feel weak. She was grateful for the crimson mask that hid cheeks she was sure had been colored the same hue.

“Do not be afraid. I’m here as your friend. My name is the Red Lady, my prince, and I have come to free you from this place,” she said, regaining her composure enough to bow and press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

~*~

Adrien, exhausted by the monotony of another day, had spent the evening buried in one of his treasured books. The pages were worn thin on this volume, so he handled it with excess care. Plagg had curled up beside him for warmth as he read on. The pair remained there, as they often did, until dusk fell and the boy would have to light a lamp to continue. He pushed the snoring black cat off his lap and rose from his bed, leaving the book behind with his furred companion. Adrien brushed his hair back from his face and sighed.

A dull thump hit the carpet. He turned towards the window.

A gorgeous girl dressed in red leather stood before him, dark hair swaying in the breeze of the gutted window behind her. Her face was obscured by a mask, but served to highlight the blue of her eyes. She exuded confidence and power, but held kindness in her eyes. Adrien should feel fear. He could only bring himself to gaze at her in awe and wonder, excited by the prospect of another human being in his small prison.

The masked girl spoke as he continued to gape at her. Her name was the Red Lady. _Fitting_ , he thought. And she had come to free him. The word “freedom” made his eyes light up and heart pound. Adrien found it hard to swallow as the beautiful girl leaned down to kiss his hand. It was like a dream.

“How did you…?” Adrien began, his voice dying in his throat as he made eye contact with his rescuer.

The Red Lady laughed, a bell-like sound, and responded. “I climbed the wall, of course.”

Adrien stared at the girl before him, once again dumbstruck by her. His face flushed at the thought of what she had endured to reach him.

“Now, I think I can maneuver back down alone, but I didn’t consider the reality of having you on my back, um…”

“Adrien,” he supplied. The Red Lady smiled warmly at him, and the remainder of his heart melted with it. He bowed to her in return of her greeting. “Thank you, my lady, for coming to my aid.”

The girl blinked once and nodded in acceptance of his gratitude. “Adrien, do you know of another way out of this tower?”

The boy was pleased by her use of his name, but perplexed by the question. “Surely you saw the front door?” He ached at the thought that she had missed the door and climbed the side of the tower for nothing.

His Lady shook her head. “I circled the tower. It’s only stone.”

Adrien blanched. It couldn’t be possible. He had gone through those doors himself when his father had first left him here. Had they been sealed all this time? He tensed.

The boy felt a warm, gloved hand rest on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I never fail my missions. I’ll get you out of here, Prince.”

Adrien considered correcting her mistake; he was no prince, but stayed his tongue. Her adoration of him was too intoxicating. The way she called to him too sweet to bear.

“There is a door to the main floor, but it’s locked,” he said. The masked maiden turned her attention inward.

“Why lock a door here when you seal the entrance…” she thought aloud. She brought a hand to her chin as her brain worked. Something seemed to click. “Adrien?”

“Y-yes?” he answered shyly.

“How do you get fresh food here in the tower?” She had been staring at a near-empty plate leftover from lunchtime that was perched upon a pile of his books. It contained an unfinished piece of soft bread and remnants of cheese.

Their eyes met, the moment charged with something that Adrien could not fully describe. “Nathalie...a maid...she delivers it through the door I mentioned.”

The Red Lady’s expression lit up in a wild grin. She grasped his hand in a way that made him feel dizzy. “Then let’s get out of here.”

~*~

Once she had all the facts, it was simple for the Red Lady to deduce their situation. The main door had been sealed, yes, but without a hidden entrance there would be no access to food. The locked door that Adrien mentioned served as further evidence to some secret passageway that had to be on the main floor.

She grasped his hand with hers, an act of pure excitement that now embarrassed her, and turned to pull him towards his long overdue freedom. Her prince resisted and held his ground.

“My cat, Plagg, I can’t leave him,” Adrien explained. The concerned look on his face made her release him in an instant.

Adrien hurried over to his disheveled bed, where a mass of black fur snored in ignorant bliss of his upcoming awakening. The boy cooed the cat’s name and ran his hands through its thick fur, somehow managing to rouse him from a dead sleep. “Plagg we’re getting out of here! C’mon.”

The midnight-furred creature blinked at him and refused to budge. It nearly huffed at Adrien in response, as if to scold him for interrupting a good nap. Adrien gave up on pleading when Plagg looked ready to scratch his eyes out, and promised the cat to come back for him instead. The boy didn’t much care about abandoning his limited physical possessions here, with the exception of his ring, but Plagg was a different story. He was a friend.

Adrien rejoined the Red Lady, who nodded to him, and together they descended the spiraling stone staircase that led to the room of antiques.

Marinette couldn’t help but release a small gasp at the sight of such beautiful things all brought together in one place. “Adrien, these are beautiful,” she whispered.

Her prince’s green eyes shimmered in the dim light as he took the lead, grasping her willing hand and leading her through the maze of fragile objects to reach the carved wooden door just beyond. She reached out to touch a glass figure before withdrawing her hand, not wanting to disturb anything. It felt wrong. The masked maiden took no notice of how the boy watched her as intently as she the beautiful trinkets.

Adrien pulled her into a dark hallway, where a great wooden door loomed before them. Though it was too dark to fully make out, the wood was carved into intricate patterns, namely lilies and delicate butterfly wings. The Red Lady examined the old lock, then winked at Adrien and withdrew one of her ruby daggers. It took mere seconds to pick open. The heart of the boy beside her hummed as the lock made a dull click.

“Ready?” she whispered. Adrien found strength in her steady gaze.

The Red Lady pushed the heavy door open without further confirmation, revealing a rather disappointing set of stone stairs that very much resembled the ones that led to his room. Adrien felt like laughing as the tension he didn’t know he carried disappeared. As he opened his mouth to speak, his lady put a gloved finger to his lips.

She had gone very still now, clearly unsettled. Something was off. His Lady drew another weapon, this time a slingshot.

“Stay close.”

Those two words were all she whispered in his ear before creeping down the steps as quiet as a mouse.

~*~

Her prince swallowed his words, hands trembling as he followed the Red Lady down the spiral staircase. He had to brace himself against the wall to avoid stumbling, but he was nearly as quiet as her. _Good_ , the girl thought. She might have seemed calm to him, her breath quiet and controlled, but her tense body language suggested otherwise. The Red Lady was on high alert for danger, one hand resting over the crimson leather pouch at her side. She made sure that Adrien was still following behind before she advanced.

The bottom of the staircase opened up into a room much like the one above, but a little wider and more open. From the inside she could see the front door that had been sealed behind a wall of stone from the outside, and the fine red carpet that led up to it. The edges of the room were too shadowed to make out. A lone mahogany table supported a vase filled with long-dead flowers. Had she been mistaken? The Red Lady had developed an acute sense of intuition, but maybe this time…

The masked girl halted at the base of the steps, dread prickling at the back of her neck. The smell had hit her now. _This could mean trouble._

The shadows along the walls rolled and shifted, pointed ears emerging from the murk. Razor-like fangs flashed as they stirred from slumber. Dogs. The whole place was guarded by a small pack of massive dogs with fur as black as coal. Marinette figured that they were trained to keep people in, or at least to keep Adrien in.

Low warning growls filled the tower room. It was only a matter of time before the dogs began their attack. “Nathalie wasn’t only here to feed you,” she whispered. Her body felt cold. She looked at him, at the terror in his green eyes, and steeled herself for what was to come.

“Look for a hidden door. I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” the Red Lady directed. She channeled as much of her strength as she could. Around them the dogs began to stand and stretch. They might have even been half-wolf based on their size. She drew a dark marble from her pouch, slingshot ready to find its first mark.

As Adrien moved from the staircase, the pack moved towards them at once. The Red Lady’s marble was released and replaced in an instant. One of the dogs was felled, but the others—either seven or eight—continued to advance, and from the look if things her marbles wouldn’t keep the beasts down for long. She only had a quick second to react.

The Red Lady’s obsidian marbles flew through the air in rapid succession to delay the pack, and she began to maneuver around and redirect them. The masked maiden brought the hilt of a ruby dagger down on one canine skull that came too close for comfort. That one would stay down for now. The other dogs regrouped for a second assault, teeth bared.

Luckily, the girl had distracted them long enough for Adrien to slip past and start his search. He was feeling along the worn stones of the wall, but no magic door appeared. The Red Lady kept one eye on him and the other on the threat. She would not let them near the Prince.

The Lady traded her slingshot for the dual daggers this time. She required a fully defensive counterattack if she wanted to stay alive, and her weapon of choice would not be as effective in such close quarters. The blades glinted in her expert hands.

She dodged her canine assailants one by one, striking out at them when she could, but her attempts were often thwarted by their snapping jaws. Marinette did all she could to avoid losing her fingers, or worse, but she could not keep up her evasive behavior forever.

Only Adrien noticed when one of the dogs crept up behind the Red Lady, readying itself for the kill. She was too preoccupied with the other six encircling her. Fear gripped him, but her safety was more important than his own right now. “My Lady, look out!” he cried.

At his warning the Red Lady managed to swing her arm back just as the beast lunged for her, knocking it towards the wall. What she didn’t realize was that her prince was now between him. The wolf-dog knocked him backwards and the two tumbled into the stone wall, uprooting the carpet in the process. “Adrien!” the Red Lady screamed, still holding the remaining dogs back. She thought her head might explode from the pressure in her ears.

The dog she hit didn’t stir. Through some kind of miracle Adrien had escaped the worst of it. Blood trickled down his bruised forehead, but his eyes were focused. He gave her a weak smile and she felt herself begin to breathe again. Then, her gaze flickered to his feet. The altercation had peeled back a portion of the carpeted entrance to reveal a partial plank of wood. Her eyes grew wide and she fought the urge to slap her hand to her forehead at the obviousness of it all.

The Red Lady was moving in an instant, letting loose a barrage of marbles before prying open the hidden door below. The dogs howled in pain, the only indication that her final stand had bought time. She didn’t look back as she gathered the injured boy carefully into her arms and slipped into the unknown of the passageway. The Red Lady had to put distance between them, but the pack would recover quickly and odds were against them.

The night air was cool and damp on her skin as she emerged from the tunnel that dipped just beneath the tower wall. Their exit disturbed a layer of dirt and pine that had concealed the secret entrance from view. Adrien would have to stand on his own now, but when she released her grip on him he swayed and looked ill.

The Red Lady bit her lip. He would not be capable of running, of that she was certain. She slammed the thin wood of the door shut and moved fallen stone overtop it in the hopes of buying more time. The golden-haired prince gasped for breath and wiped the blood from his eyes as she worked. It was all she needed to make up her mind.

“I’m going to lead them away from you,” the Red Lady said.

Distress clouded Adrien’s eyes. “No, my lady, I won’t leave you.” He tried to sound adamant, but his voice crackled with emotion. She almost smiled despite herself at his name for her.

“Hide in that tree there. I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you, I promise,” she whispered. Tears pricked at her eyes when her voice broke. She hoped he couldn’t see them in the dark. The idea of leaving him alone was awful, but the idea of letting him face the vicious pack on their heels was worse. She had already let him get hurt once.

“My lady, I said I won’t—”

The Red Lady clasped her hands against his face and pressed her lips firmly against his. His breath caught in his throat. Adrien, defiance quelled, sank deep into the kiss and drew her closer. She let her lips linger there for only a moment longer before she pulled away. “Go,” she said. Whatever words he’d had died in his throat.

The pack was scuffling against the thin doorway and would smash through it at any time, but despite this the Red Lady felt a sense of ease. Adrien was safe now. She used her precious spare seconds to let out a low whistle through her fingers.

Lucky Charm burst through the forest at the call of his mistress. She mounted her stallion just as the dogs poured out from the passageway in a roiling flood of midnight fur. The Red Lady nodded once at Adrien, then galloped off into the night, pack in tow. A myriad of sharp barks echoed through the rustling forest behind her. At least she could use her slingshot freely now.

~*~

Marinette sighed beneath her mask. It had taken a while, but she had picked the dogs off one by one. They would remain unconscious long enough for her to retrieve Adrien and make their escape. Her eyes lit up at the thought of returning to her prince, while the reality of the kiss finally caught up to her as heat filled her rosy cheeks. She patted Lucky Charm for a job well done, and he huffed in approval.

Her reverie was broken by the sudden approach of another horse. The Red Lady stiffened and drew her slingshot once more. “Princess?” a voice hissed through the darkness.

The Red Lady lowered her weapon as shock coursed through her. “Alya?”

Her best friend emerged from the shadows, brown hair tied back hastily and eyes tight with concern. “Girl, I’m sorry. The Queen found you out and the guards on their way here as we speak. I’m barely ahead of them,” her Lady-in-waiting quickly explained.

Marinette dismounted and removed her mask first, then the rest of her gear, hiding it within the beige travel bag tied to Lucky Charm’s saddle. She forced herself to remain reserved, like her birthright demanded.

“Thank you, Alya. You did more than I should have asked of you. Please, take him,” she said. The Princess reached for her friend’s hand, warm to the touch, and placed the reins there. Alya nodded grimly and led the stallion away. Marinette could trust her to see to him and ensure her secret was kept.

A peculiar sadness hit her. The entirety of her alter ego had been tied up into that saddle bag, which made it impossible for her to go back for Adrien tonight even without the entourage of palace guards. She was no longer the Red Lady who kissed the lonely Prince; the clock had struck midnight.

Marinette scolded herself. She should have expected that Queen Sabine would be astute enough to see through her weak excuse. Good fortune saw to it that nobody would know she fought off a pack of dogs tonight. Her mother would be more worried for her safety than angry, after all.

Soon enough the royal guards found her “lost” and alone in a clearing. She apologized for riding off, adding that the palace had been too stuffy to bear lately, and explained that her horse had spooked and left her here. They accepted her lie without further questions and set her upon another steed for the journey home.

Princess Marinette sighed, bringing a hand to her lips as she recounted her final goodbye to Adrien. She sent one last glance back to the tower before her captors lead her back to her cage. _I’m sorry, Prince. I broke my promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skip? You guessed it.


	5. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's become of our dear Marinette? Things have changed a little since we last saw her...
> 
> Chat Noir will make his grand entrance quite soon to sweep our Princess off her feet >:)

A year had passed since that fateful night where the Princess of Miraclus had lost both her freedom and her true love. No wild wind nor velveteen mask had graced her face since that time. She had given up that it ever would, as the battered trunk concealed beneath her bed grew heavier still with gathering dust.

Princess Marinette sighed, tapping the metal tip of a feathered pen against her leather-bound sketchbook. The noirette was perched on the cushioned bench beside her bay window, a usual haunt, blue satin gown rumpled above her dangling legs. She had taken to designing more and more often these days at the suggestion of her father’s Royal Advisor. After stumbling upon a sketch of hers, he’d praised her for her “potential” and admitted she had “quite the eye for fashion.” The man had been somewhat of an infamous tailor in his younger days, before being welcomed into the graces of the kingdom, and his words had significant meaning.

Designing had come naturally to her, and thankfully her parents approved of the pastime. She supposed the Queen would be relieved that her daughter was interested in more leisurely activities than dangerous horse rides in the dead of night. 

Marinette frowned at thought of her neglected horse. She was no longer allowed into the stables to see Lucky Charm without an escort, and even then only to ride him on the palace grounds. One step into the forest beyond and her riding privileges would end. The princess could tell that he missed their outings as much as she did.

She looked down at her sketch, the skirts of the elaborate gown just beginning to take shape with her first strokes of ink. The close-up of the bodice was already finished and it would require just a few more hours of work before needle could slip into fabric. A strand of midnight fell into her eyes and she tucked it out of the way, tossing her work aside on the bench to tie the bothersome hair back in a braid. It desperately needed to be cut, she noted, the gentle curls already reaching down to her chest.

When she returned to it, her book had turned to where the spine was most worn: a familiar sketch from one year prior of a golden-haired boy smiled back at her. The princess traced her fingers over the soft page, brushing the edge of his paper cheek. Her real prince was still lost to her, and still made her heart ache like no other could. No matter how many times she sent someone out to look for him, the search yielded no results. Adrien had vanished into thin air, but then again so had the Red Lady.

About a week after her incident in the forest, the little kingdom realized that their patron goddess had abandoned them without warning. Thieves ran rampant and the people feared for their safety; their princess could do nothing from her ivory-walled prison. Then, one day, an outsider had come to them in search of his true love. The Black Knight of Miraclus, defender of its people, adored by all. Rumors spread like wildfire about the mysterious new guardian who wore a black mask to hide his face and kept a black cat at his side. Originally Marinette had been grateful for someone to take up her mantle…but quickly reconsidered her opinion of his aid.

The Red Lady was the lover this Black Knight sought, believing that she would return to this place and also to him one day. The Knight had vowed to her people, a loud proclamation in the center of the square, to protect his Lady’s beloved city in her stead. How they had cheered. It was not long until his oath reached palace ears. Marinette had pursed her lips when Alya relayed the Knight’s words, wondering how the arrogant fool of a warrior had got it into his head that she belonged to him. It set her blood at a boil, imagining how this stranger wanted her. The Red Lady was not some prize to claim, and her heart was not up for winning either. It already belonged to Adrien.

She hated the way he pranced about town and gloated over his victories. The Red Lady would never make herself so open and vulnerable, the amateur, and the way he drank in the popularity of being the town’s savior was downright distasteful. He didn’t even dress like a real knight! The title was purely aesthetic. Sure, he had a fancy sword, but his “armor” was merely a suit of black leather probably crafted in homage to the Red Lady.

The loathsome man irked her beyond reason, and she could not deny that a small part of her frustration emerged from a place of jealousy. He possessed what she could not and beyond that his impulsive behavior felt like a slap in the face. Marinette was relieved that she had not been forced to meet with him as the Princess yet, lest the stinging words that rested on the Red Lady’s tongue would win out against better judgment.

His single redeeming quality was his success. The Black Knight was talented, no matter how much she hated to admit it, though nowhere near as skilled as the Red Lady herself. He kept the city safe and for that alone she could thank him. Everything else made her want to punch that no-good cat lover in the jaw.

The princess wrinkled her nose and closed her sketchbook, unable to reconcile the dazzling image of her lost prince with thoughts of this Black Knight. For all his claims of loving her, he had no problem gallivanting about with the village girls who threw themselves at him. She scoffed. Even Alya thought him somewhat handsome.

A soft, timid knock reached her ears. “Enter,” the princess called with lingering bitterness.

It was Rose, one of her personal maids, with Juleka in tow. “Oh, um, Princess…we’re here to help you prepare for afternoon tea,” the blonde chirped. Her shyness kept her blue eyes from leaving the ground, though Juleka’s hand never left her arm in support.

Marinette smiled empathetically and bid them to join her. The dark-haired maid remained silent, but the expression on her face was warm as Rose stumbled through a thank you and dashed to the closet to select the proper gown. Juleka approached her mistress with a string of pink-hued pearls in hand. The princess’s favorite color, which must mean there was some unexpected bad news in her future if she knew the two of them at all. She said nothing more as the two girls began to fuss over her.

Rose had dressed her in an elegant, full-skirted ballgown that faded from pure white to a blush pink. Juleka had taken nearly an hour to decorate her head with the collection of pearls, stark against the black of her hair. Not a strand was out of place. Marinette refused to switch out the ruby earrings, much to Juleka’s chagrin, but was otherwise deemed presentable.

“You look absolutely lovely, Princess,” Rose squealed. She looked as if she might cry. Juleka casually slipped her hand into the blonde’s and nodded her agreement.

Marinette dipped her head graciously and gave a dramatic curtsy as regally as she could muster. “I would never look the part without the two of you,” she laughed. “Thank you, you may go now.”

A look passed between the two maids, and Juleka’s expression wrinkled. Rose rubbed her arm with discomfort. “Is something the matter?” Marinette asked.

“Tomorrow is our anniversary,” Juleka reluctantly supplied.

“We were wondering if we might have the day off, you know, to celebrate. Even though is isn’t standard…” Rose said. Her wavering voice trailed off.

“Of course!” Marinette cried, palm to her forehead, shocked at her oversight. “I’d almost forgotten.” _No wonder Rose was nervous all this time._

The princess hurried to her vanity, withdrawing a small pouch from the top drawer. She deposited the bag in Rose’s unsuspecting hands, a multitude of coins jingling as they resettled inside. Both Rose and Juleka’s eyes widened at the generous gift, and before they could react, Marinette drew the couple into a hug. She’d meant to do this all along. The girls blinked with mouths agape.

“Love is something to cherish. I want the two of you to have a wonderful anniversary. You’re my very important friends, after all,” the noirette whispered, burying her face into their shoulders.

“Princess, you’ll ruin your hair,” Juleka scolded, fighting back a tearful laugh. Rose was already bawling beside her as she sank into the hug.

Marinette had known of their relationship for some time now, having grown closer to them since her days as the Red Lady had ended. Rose and Juleka had met at the palace and been inseparable since, though due to shyness it had taken the two of them ages to admit their feelings. Alya—always in on the palace gossip—told her that it had been unbearably obvious to everyone else, but took a palace guard courting Rose, a bouquet mix-up, and a marriage proposal to push them together at last.

It was amazing how two people so desperately in love with each other could be so blind to the other person’s feelings. Alya’s description had been accurate. She could feel it radiate off them in their smiles and the subtle ways they touched one another as if made of glass. The princess was happy for them, though her own fractured heart tightened with longing.

She sent the pair off early, warning them not to come back until the anniversary was sufficiently enjoyed. Rose and Juleka waved goodbye, beaming through their tears, and linked hands in a way that set Marinette’s heart aflutter. Her joy only diminished when she remembered her arrangement with Princess Chloé, at the request of the Queen, to sit for afternoon tea.

The only person who was possibly more aggravating to her than the Black Knight was Chloé Bourgeois, whose extended stay at the palace had only served to deepen Marinette’s dislike of the selfish princess. Chloé abused the kindnesses of everyone around her, whether her unfortunate Lady-in-waiting, Sabrina, or a citizen of Miraclus. The palace servants were terrified of her. The Esvernian also found a special sort of amusement in tormenting Marinette, who had no choice but to grit her teeth and take insult after insult. King Thomas reminded his daughter day after day that Esvern was an important ally they simply couldn’t afford to fall out of favor with, but how was she expected to survive a whole sit-down affair with the witch?

Another knock, this one confident and succinct, resounded through the room and tore her from her thoughts. “Come in,” Marinette called. She expected Alya or Nino. What she got was the Queen.

Her mother entered with unmatched grace that made Marinette instinctively stand up straighter. Sabine’s eyes crinkled at the corners, emerald gown flowing behind her. “My beautiful daughter,” she said, cupping her hands around Marinette’s face and planting a kiss on her brow. The Queen smelled of sweet perfume.

“Hello mama,” Marinette greeted. Sabine pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I see you’re eager for afternoon tea with our guest,” the Queen mused, looking over Marinette’s fine ensemble.

“Uh…yeah. It’ll be great, mom.” The princess tried to sound enthused. “Chloé is certainly exceptional company.” _Exceptionally awful, in her case._

“Glad to hear you’re getting along, dear,” Sabine hummed. The Queen took Marinette’s hands in her own as she continued. “I actually have a surprise for you, so after tea please join your father and I in the Grand Hall.”

Marinette nodded obediently, and at her daughter’s confirmation the Queen took her leave. The flowery scent of her perfume lingered in the air.

The doors clicked shut and at once the weary princess slumped into her chaise, unconcerned by her now wrinkled dress. She spent the next twenty minutes mentally preparing herself for the battle ahead of her. There was no way she would let her parents down tonight.

~*~

_A dark-haired woman approached a set of gilded doors, expression creased with worry. Her steps were more hurried than usual, echoing off the marble flooring in rapid succession. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, she knew, and Thomas was under more pressure with each passing day._

_Two guards stood like statues obstructing the threshold. She cleared her throat and the two men came to life, stepping aside and bidding the woman entrance into the grand room before her. A large, chestnut-haired man awaited her upon his throne, the seat beside him empty. She took her place beside him._

_“Sabine,” he greeted, eyes revealing his exhaustion. His crown looked all too heavy. She melted into a sympathetic smile and moved to set a dainty hand on her husband’s arm. Her worry edged its way into her voice as she spoke in a hushed whisper despite the privacy of the hall._

_“Is it true, Thomas?” she asked._

__

_The Royal Advisor finally spoke as if reading from an official report, voice as smooth as velvet. “Hired bandits have been ambushing Miraclun miners and merchants alike near the border of Esvern, and any changes to the routes have been predicted by the enemy. As such, we have reason to believe there is a spy in the court.”_

_The Valean woman gasped. “A spy, here?” She turned to her husband, eyes wide and seeking answers._

_“My men have recovered various scraps of cloth native to the Esvernian region from the skirmishes,” Gabriel added._

_“Now Gabriel, I refuse to place blame on anyone just yet, especially with a war at stake, but whoever is behind this certainly has someone working on the inside,” the King contested mildly._

_Sabine thought for a moment, brows knitted together with concern as she digested the situation. She met Thomas’s gaze. “Our daughter. I can’t rest easy when Marinette is so free-spirited. She needs protection if there really is such a dangerous spy lurking in our midst.”_

_Gabriel’s expression twitched with annoyance, but the slight change in demeanor went unnoticed by the King and Queen. “A wise consideration, Your Majesty, but who can you trust?” he purred._

_The Queen’s intelligent eyes gleamed. “I already have someone in mind.”_

~*~

Amber eyes narrowed, judging every inch of Marinette with cold disdain. The cruel-mannered blonde smirked from behind her cup of Earl Grey, clad in a honey-colored dress supposedly spun from finer silk than her tiny country could offer. Chloé was enjoying this just about as much as Marinette wasn’t.

The first half hour had mostly consisted of snide remarks from Chloé about trivial matters such as fashion and the disappointing quality of Miraclun soap. Her host had endured and nibbled on the freshly baked cookies that had been prepared for them, as if eating them slowly would get her out of there more quickly. The blonde princess was growing bored from Marinette’s lack of response. She paused to drop an additional lump of sugar into her tea, as if displeased by the taste, before raising it back to her lips.

“So, Marinette,” Chloé began. “I heard you are rather lax with your servants. A bit sloppy, I must say.” The spoiled girl snickered at her own words.

The noirette’s expression hardened, but she held her anger back. She thought of Alya, of Nino, of Juleka and Rose. “I show them the respect they deserve.” Marinette took a careful sip of her own tea, refusing to be baited.

“They’re servants,” Chloé chided. “I always had a suspicion that this country was backwards, but this confirms it. _My_ daddy knows that we’re above those worthless peasants.”

Marinette set her porcelain cup on its saucer with a clack, gaze fixed to the table. She did not deign to answer and the blonde princess huffed. Chloé tried another angle and managed to strike a nerve, waving her hand in condescension as she rambled.

“It’s no wonder that this country is such a mess, considering your father’s slacker policies. Without that second-rate knight I’m not sure you’d have a kingdom left to rule. A shame the Red Lady abandoned you, of course, but it was only a matter of time; this dingy city was truly beneath her.”

The princess rose to her feet and smoothed her white gown, fire in her eyes. “My apologies, Princess Chloé, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut the conversation short. I have other engagements. I believe if you find my city lacking, then maybe a public tour would change your mind.”

Marinette flashed a demure smile as her companion stiffened and scrunched her nose up in disgust at the thought of walking through dirty streets. Chloé looked absolutely appalled at being spoken to in such a manner. The raven-haired princess exited the room without further ado, not waiting for the other girl’s response. The exchange went about as well as she expected.

The tension she hadn’t realize she carried faded from her shoulders as she rounded the corner into the adjacent corridor. She laughed to herself at the knowledge that there was, in fact, one thing that she and Chloé agreed upon: the Black Knight. “Second-rate” indeed. The giggle bubbled up into her throat.

Marinette strode toward the Grand Hall where her parents awaited her with a renewed vigor. She had to lift the hem of her gown to keep herself from tripping, but the restrictions of the dress were far from her mind. What manner of surprise did they have in store for her? Would she finally gain her freedom back? The thought stirred a part of her mind that had been dormant for a long while.

She pushed the golden doors open and slipped through, too eager to wait for the ceremonious guards to mobilize. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she rushed into her father’s arms, his embrace nearly swallowing her in his relative bulk.

“Marinette, my darling, how was tea with Princess Chloé?” he asked as father and daughter broke apart.

The princess considered her response carefully. “I offered her a formal tour of the city,” she said. King Thomas patted her shoulder with pride, mustache shifting as he presented her with his wide smile.

Queen Sabine smiled from her throne. “What a wonderful idea. I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Marinette grinned. She was sure Chloé would love to hear that.

“Now Marinette, your mother mentioned a surprise…” The King seemed to be holding something back as he carefully articulated each word.

The girl’s curiosity was reignited. “What it is, Papa?”

“It’s more of a _who_ than a what,” the Queen chimed in. “Through those doors there.” Her mother gestured to a set of small doors that led to a private courtyard, offering no further explanation.

Marinette’s face fell. She wasn’t getting her freedom. And what did they mean by who? Was this some sort of arranged marriage? She gagged at the thought of a suitor waiting beyond those doors with roses in hand, and immediately redacted it in her mind. Juleka and Rose's color selection made sense to her now; whatever this was, it wasn't good. The princess swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat as she made her way toward the courtyard doors, replacing the mask of royal indifference she wore earlier with Chloé.

The doors creaked open and the pleasant light of the afternoon sun flooded into the palace hall. Fresh air caressed her cheeks, but Marinette stopped breathing. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus: Curious about Rose and Juleka?  
> Here's what happened in summary: A palace guard decided to pursue Rose, and Juleka is super supportive because that's what you do for your best friend when you think they like someone. In reality, Rose is just too nice to turn him down and Juleka gets the wrong impression. Meanwhile Rose gets the idea that Juleka isn't interested in her and tries to resign herself to the guard's attentions because oh man it could work out right? Rose's birthday comes around, and much like the infamous incident with Marinette's scarf, Juleka sends Rose her favorite flowers with a declaration of her love--unable to bear it any more--but forgets to sign the card and the palace guard claims it as his own gift, having forgotten to buy one. Juleka doesn't tell Rose because she is so happy that this guy remembered. It takes a very public proposal where the suitor presents Rose with the wrong flowers for her to catch on and Juleka to admit she sent the love confession. Everyone else is totally not surprised it's a thing. Half the palace shipped them ages ago. Cue beautiful ending and a passionate kiss for our gal pals ;)


End file.
